The Kids Are Alright
by LaueHime
Summary: Oneshot. Wee!chesters. Outsider POV. How can life be so cruel to human beings as fragile as kids? It doesn't happen often, but I know them when I see them. I hadn't seen one in a while until this Dean Winchester had been moved to my class.


**Title: ** The Kids Are Alright  
><strong>Author:<strong> LaueHime  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Angst, Drama, some Hurt/Comfort  
><strong>Characters:<strong> OC narrator, Dean, hints of John and Sam

**Word count: **Approximately 4,600

**Summary:** Oneshot. Wee!chesters. Outsider POV. How can life be so cruel to human beings as fragile as kids? It doesn't happen often, but I know them when I see them. I hadn't seen one in a while until this _Dean Winchester_ had been moved to my class.

**Disclaimer:** The show belongs to Kripke.

**A/N:** My current life activities totally inspired this one. It's a first try with an OC, outsider POV and young boys. I hope it's enjoyable still. Sorry for any mistake, this is unbeta'd. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

XXX

_1987_

In my many years of work, I'd seen all kinds of children. All those years ago, when I graduated, I guess I had no idea what I'd signed up for. Granted the fact that I loved kids, and thank God I still do, I'd jumped on the bandwagon. I myself had struggled for years too many, trying to find my purpose; the one the Lord had bestowed upon me. I guess it's when I prayed for answers that He graced me with the burning will to distribute the good I'd been given.

And I became a teacher.

If I once couldn't find my way, it now rested in my hands to guide the little ones on their path to destiny. I was given a light and it made me a beacon. It always inspired me to know that I could make a difference; that I could insufflate hope and willingness.

Given how passionate I am, there's also something in me that makes me quite sensitive to others. As I try to carry good energies around me, I'm prone to feel whose hearts aren't committed to receive such strength.

People close to me have always wondered why I would choose elementary school as a ground to investigate. They think kids are too young to be inspired. I've stopped arguing a long time ago, because they don't know what I know. It's only after years of teaching in late High School that I finally understood that it's not where it all starts. Proof is in the fact that some kids never even make it to the end of High School. The programs and the pressure don't reach them; it's not who they are and who they want to be.

It's different when they're younger. They give you access to their real dreams; the ones that aren't tainted by the constant limitations imposed by the adult world. That's where I realised there was something I could offer.

As long as the school board doesn't stop me, I like to make these dreams come to life. I can't tear my eyes away from the utter _bliss_ I see in a kid's face when he marvels about how he's going to save the world. I see potential doctors, politicians and even officers of the law. I like to watch them with their chubby smiles, waving their _Superman _and _Batman_ lunchboxes.

It doesn't work with all of them though. Some kids are lost; broken and desperate even at their tender age. It breaks my heart at every turn to think that life could be so cruel to a human being as fragile as a kid.

I meet a couple of them every year. Some are just poking around for trouble. Others are just desperately clawing to my attention.

And then there are the withdrawn ones.

It doesn't happen often, but I know them when I see them. Their sadness leaks out of them like a wound that just won't heal. I'm guessing they've had a lifetime of wounds already, even if they only have a couple of years of experience with them. They're the quiet ones who don't ask for my help or anybody else's, for that matter. I always feel like doing something to comfort them. In the meantime, experience has told me not to push it.

I hadn't seen one in a while until this _Dean Winchester_ had been moved to my class. I was surprised at first, because it was the middle of the year. Kids didn't just appear like that, halfway into the road, and just went on like nothing happened. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him.

I remember the first day I met him. The school principal, M. Bateman, had walked him to my class without giving me much of a hint on the kid's file. I had a name and an age. Dean was an eight year-old boy. He was tall for his age, but not alarmingly. His dark blond hair was kept short in that military fashion I'd seen before on much older men. What got me the most were the green eyes that were starkly brought out by a constellation of freckles. Such a tender trait should have softened his small face but it didn't. In fact, Dean's eyes were _glaring_ back at me and his features were pulled tightly.

Strangely enough, it wasn't anger that I could sense from him. The child looked frightened when I asked him to introduce himself to the class. He kept shooting little glances in my direction as if searching for my protection. I remember wanting to comfort him by putting my hand on his shoulder, the way someone would to ensure a securing presence. Instead of leaning into the touch, he startled away from it as if I had meant to hurt him. I thought it was odd at the time, but I assumed he was defensive because he was the new kid and hadn't yet found someone he could trust.

As I kept thinking that he was shy only over meeting so many new faces at the same time, I wasn't expecting him to keep up with the vow of silence. He wasn't a bad kid; far from it actually. He never interrupted the class and always followed when I demanded something. Still, I hardly ever heard him. He had a tendency to keep for himself.

Seeing as he didn't grapple for my attention, I stayed at a distance. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable or anything. During the personal work sessions, he appeared to be working. That's what I thought until I decided to collect the copies, explaining that I wanted to have an idea of my students' progress.

My heart skipped a few beats when I came across Dean's copy. Instead of finding equations like I expected, I found that he'd made drawings. Some of them were rather disturbing to say the least. Most of them were apparently animals. I knew M. Bateman wanted us to report insubordination, but I didn't see it as such. It was a common occurrence of my students to imagine mystical creatures that led to doodling during my classes. I didn't mind so much as long as they understood the lessons. I believed maybe Dean hadn't and had been too timid to ask for my help.

On the next day, I remember handing back the copies to their maker. When I stopped by Dean's desk, I knew that I couldn't say more than a few words at the time, unless I wanted to disrupt the class and I didn't.

"Loved the art, but it's not what I asked. Come see me after class," I recall telling him before carrying on with my task.

I wasn't angry or anything, which made it all the more heartbreaking to see him come up to my desk as if I were about to pass physical punishment on him. He was there, dragging his little feet and keeping his head bowed so our eyes couldn't meet. When he reached me, he only slumped on his spot and remained silent.

"Listen, Dean. I'm not angry, I promise. I'm just worried because you didn't complete the exercise. Was it too difficult?"

He started balancing from right to left as if he were nervous. I thought he still looked like he felt bad about it. I was really starting to wonder about Dean and his family. I could see he was a good kid, deep down. He'd never been impolite or anything. He was actually so quiet it unnerved me.

I finally caught a shrug out of him.

"Doesn't matter," I heard him say in a quivering whisper.

"Why? If it's difficult, you can ask for my assistance. I'll be happy to help you," I assured him. I could tell he still didn't look convinced.

"I don't want to. It's boring anyway."

It was the only thing he said before turning his back and leaving my class. I did catch a glimpse of his eyes and noticed that there still wasn't any hint of anger in them. What I saw shone like the color of regret and I couldn't understand why. Either way, I didn't have the heart to hold him back. That child had been in two classes already this year; maybe even more. Perhaps he was just fed up of being given up on. I swallowed back tears and went home after that.

I spent a few days not pushing it. Somehow, I had the feeling that when I gave that writing assignment, Dean would be doing anything but. I couldn't find it in me to roam around and scowl at him. When the music of the bell echoed through the halls, my students started gathering their material and I received all the copies on my desk. I was eager to hear what those kids had to say about their 'best one time vacation'.

I know I spent that whole night reading stories about adventures to the park and starlit nights in the middle of the summer. I read the tales of princesses building their kingdoms in the sun-kissed sand of the beach and of groups of pirates conquering the Holy couch of their grandmother's living room.

I loved that world in which kids grew up in. Maybe I was being a big kid myself, but I did enjoy those stories full of heroism and magic. I came to the last copy which was Dean's. I'd kept it for last, like kids do with red Smarties. My first big surprise was that Dean had actually written something. My excitement expanded in my chest.

With wide eager eyes, I started reading the story entitled _Our weekend with Uncle Bobby_.

Dean didn't have the vastest inventory of words I had witnessed throughout my career. Still, there was an unadulterated honesty in his few words that brought tears to my eyes. Through the writing assignment paper of a withdrawn eight year-old, I met the young Sammy and the gruff man, Bobby. Dean was blunt in his descriptions, but I could still imagine the sunny afternoon and the park where the older man and Dean spent the afternoon playing ball. What stood out from the text was how the kid was grateful his uncle didn't treat him like a baby. I also got the strong sense that Dean was glad he and Sam had had some true 'happy' time with their uncle. There was something about how their dad usually made them 'work'. Dean hadn't elaborated on the subject, but it had raised so many questions.

When I got to school on the next morning, I noticed the old Chevy that was standing out remarkably from the landscape. I stopped to take a look and knew I'd made the right decision when I saw Dean climb down the vehicle and onto the sidewalk. I tried to remain as small as I could so I wouldn't be caught sneaking.

A younger boy came out of the car after Dean. I assumed it must be the _Sammy_ I'd read about. The younger boy was much smaller. I could tell he wasn't old enough to be in school. His hair was darker and longer than Dean's. I smiled at the dark mess of unruly bangs as the kid reminded me of my own son when he was that age. Sometimes I did miss those days.

_Sammy_ wrapped his tiny arms around his big brother and even from where I stood, I could see the big fat tears on his face. My heart squeezed in my chest for the kid.

I remember being completely thrown off guard when I heard Dean talking to his little brother. For a second, it was like I was hearing myself in stereo. How could such a young boy act like such an adult around another kid? The mother in me threatened to take over but somehow, I was all aware that _Sammy_ was already in good hands.

"Don't worry, little brother. I'll be back as soon as school is over. You know, it'll be your turn next year. Smart as you are, I'm sure you'll love it," Dean cooed as he kneeled to face his weeping brother. My heart was so warm it could've melted a hole in my chest.

"You'll be back?" the youngest echoed after his brother, as if it was the only thing that he'd held on to from his brother's speech.

"I promise, Sammy. You stay with dad today. Don't give the man too much trouble."

I saw the wink Dean gave his brother. There was so much affection in such a little gesture, my vision of the boy changed completely. In front of his kid brother, Dean was the confident and strong sibling. He needed little Sammy to feel safe and he made sure it happened. The Dean I had access to was a completely different story. I started to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Dean was probably just as scared as Sam was. I'd seen it on the first day and the ones after, even if Dean had made remarkable efforts to keep me from seeing it. He seemed to act as if he didn't need anything but I had a feeling that deep down, he needed someone to reassure him the way he did for Sam. No kid that age was strong enough to hold the weight of the world on his shoulder.

I heard the honk from the car and the order that Dean left his brother's side and got to class. The stern tone had me frowning, but then there wasn't anything I could do and I wasn't even supposed to have overheard. Little Sammy climbed back inside the big muscle car and I watched him disappear behind the little window, waving goodbye like Dean was sent off to war.

The emotional burden of everything I'd just witnessed was so heavy that I felt like my legs would give out on me. I wondered how Dean managed to put up with it for the last eight years, let alone the fact that he forced himself to stand straight for his little brother. I hadn't realised how strong he was until now. I guess my mathematics didn't mean much to him, indeed.

During the day, I couldn't shake away what I'd witnessed in the morning. When school ended, I called Dean up to my desk. I watched him move heavily; his small body slumped like a condemned man walking toward the gallows. It was as if he thought I would bark some orders at him, or something. Only, I was no commandant and his burdened stature only saddened me.

I recall thinking of something to say or do to alleviate the tension right away. I know I gave him my best motherly smile and I remember the baffled expression on his face. Didn't this kid get any smiles? I was getting angry at this father I hadn't met, but who clearly needed to see how much pressure his eldest was carrying alone.

"I loved your composition." It was the first thing that came to my mind and it was true that I had. I was happy to see how a piece of paper and an assignment had managed to make this kid open up, even if only briefly.

Dean looked at me with wide surprised eyes, as if he had never expected our conversation go into this direction.

"Why?"

I looked into his eyes and all I could read was confusion. The little knots on his forehead displayed his incomprehension and I found myself being the one who couldn't understand why I had to explain to him that he was worthy of being complemented.

"You know, I have a little brother too." Our relationship didn't even begin to compare with what I'd seen between Dean and Sam but if it could give us something to work with, I was ready to give it a try.

He looked at me suspiciously, as if he were trying to figure out where I was heading with this.

"My parents would ask me to keep an eye on him when we were little," I continued, hoping that it would lead to more of a conversation than a monologue.

"Taking care of Sammy is my job. Dad doesn't even have to ask." His response was out of his mouth so quickly that I had to force my face back into a neutral expression or he would see how excited I was about him talking.

"Aren't you a little young to be taking care of a kid all by yourself?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. His walls erupted right back around him and all I could do was stare.

"No one knows him as well as I do," he replied bitterly while his glare only intensified. I could tell the subject was a sensitive one.

"He seems like he trusts you a lot, that's for sure."

I started counting the seconds and just as I'd internally predicted, his eyes softened. I reckoned his defense mechanisms were unusually numerous for a boy with his age and life experience.

"You're a very good big brother, from what I see," I added when he let me know with his curious eyes that he was waiting for my next comment. I had seen just seconds ago how quickly his walls could come up. This time, I got to witness how they came down. The process was more uncertain but it was achievable. I wondered how many people had had that chance in the past.

Dean looked down as if he were _ashamed_ of something. I caught myself wondering if he doubted my words.

"I guess." It was all he mumbled before his eyes drifted away from mine, as though he was trying to keep me from reading them.

"You don't think it's true?"

He shrugged and finally looked back up to me. I could see the beginnings of a quivering bottom lip and his soulful green eyes watered.

"Sammy is sad all the time and I really want to make him happy, but it's not working. I'm probably not a good enough brother." Dean sniffled as he let his confession sink in.

My heart broke in thousands of shards. I hadn't expected that and I had to bite my own tears back. I racked my brain for something to say and it slammed into me before I could think too far. I kneeled in front of him so that our faces were on the same level. I had a big proud smile on my face and his confusion only fueled my pride.

"Have you tried magic?"

He looked at me as if I'd grown a second head.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," he replied with obvious fear. It was an unusual reaction, but I couldn't tell why he appeared to be so afraid.

"Why not? Who doesn't love a magician? Look," I instructed before showing my left hand to him. I put it on the side, palm facing me. I then added my right hand over the left, folding my fingers loosely over my right thumb. Dean looked at me with apprehension.

I smiled and moved my right hand so that it gave the impression that I was pulling my left thumb off my left hand. His eyes widened and I did the trick a few times to fuel his curiosity.

"How?" he asked breathily while taking my hand and turning it to every possible angle.

"Let me show you and then you can trick your brother." I gave him the same kind of wink I had seen on his face that morning and it seemed to work like a charm. He was all enthusiastic as I showed him how to place his hands and his fingers. I had never seen him glow with such positive energy. The only thought of seeing his brother smile drove him to get out of his way to learn something new. I was really proud to have allowed that moment to happen.

On the next day, I remember being really excited about questioning Dean. I don't know why something so simple had such an effect on me, but I had grown to be very fond of the boy. I wished other people would see him like I had. It was impossible not to like him when he was that passionate.

When he acknowledged that I was walking toward him, he smiled instantly. A profound feeling of accomplishment settled inside of me. I let out a breath that I wasn't aware I'd been holding.

When I asked him how it went, Dean's green eyes sparkled with pride. "Sammy said I was the coolest brother in the world. He also said he wanted to become a magician." The kid shimmered with gratitude. My fingers instinctively went to his head and through his short hair.

He unexpectedly hopped to his feet and wrapped me in a tight hug. I clearly hadn't been expecting that, but as I felt the warm little bundle against me, I couldn't help but return the affectionate gesture.

"Thank you," he said as he craned his neck to be able to look me in the eyes. I smiled, biting my cheeks from the inside to keep any strangled sounds from escaping my lips. I wanted to cry out of joy and amazement… but I settled on giving my brightest smile.

That was on Friday. That was before everything went berserk. By the end of the day, I had made the announcement that my students had the whole weekend to prepare a short presentation on their parents. If I had known, I would've picked another subject.

When the time came on Monday morning, I was excited about what I would learn about my students. Oddly enough, Dean had remained rather quiet throughout the morning. I thought he was probably nervous. He had gotten better at speaking to me alone, but that wasn't the whole class staring back at him.

We started hearing stories of 'my mother is a lawyer' and 'my father is a firefighter'. I noticed from the corner of my eyes that Dean was awfully quiet. I thought maybe I was overanalyzing things.

But I quickly found out that I wasn't.

I think it really started to go downhill when Emily explained how her mother worked for Child Services. Dean had blanched considerably. From what I was told afterwards, Jimmy, the student who was sitting right next to him, had started telling Dean about his own father. Apparently, he was too excited to wait for his turn to present. I remember turning to them and I was about to tell them to stop talking.

Without a warning, Dean sent his flying fist to the side of Jimmy's head. The latter sat still, baffled, before he started to cry out in pain. I was taken aback by the sudden violence I hadn't expected from such a sweet kid.

Of course, the other students around them reacted instantly. Dean was quickly the prey of rude comments from his peers. Boys wanted to push him around when I grabbed him and dragged him out of the room. I was still terrified or what I had witnessed, mostly because I hadn't seen it coming and it bothered me.

"Why would you do that?" I asked angrily.

I had been all but mean to him thus far and that's what he had to offer? Thinking back, I shouldn't have let anger get to me, but I was somewhat horrified by the fact that I had taken a liking in a boy who would just throw a punch for no reason.

"He's just a jerk," Dean had replied with matching anger. I could already feel I was losing control at that moment. I didn't think that he would hit me but I still wasn't completely safe.

At his comment, I couldn't help myself. "Watch your language, boy!"

That was the moment his walls really went all the way back up and around him. That was when I knew something had been broken. I can still see his eyes when I think about it. I can still tell how petrified he was. I hadn't meant to use this tone with him, but it had come out before I could stop it.

"Tell me why you hurt Jimmy," I demanded again. When I think back on it, I shouldn't have insisted. I don't know. Had I gained more of his trust instead of breaking it, maybe I could've done something more.

"Leave me alone," he started to say while backing away from me.

"You either tell me or you can tell M. Bateman."

I really wanted him to tell _me_. Still, I knew I'd be in trouble if I didn't report the situation. I couldn't let this go because I liked the kid. How fair would that be to the other kids? Violence was certainly not tolerated, no matter the reason.

"All of you go to Hell! I hate you all!" Dean cried as he started walking himself to the principal's office.

"Boy, where did you learn to talk like that?" I asked as I quickened my pace to match his. He pretended I wasn't there until we reached the principal's office and I explained the situation to M. Bateman. I know he got Dean's father on the phone, after that.

I got back to my class in the meantime. I couldn't let my students alone but I could hardly shake the look of complete betrayal Dean had shot me. When class ended, I went back to the principal's office hoping that Dean would have cooled off so that we could talk.

I wasn't prepared to hear the deep and upset voice of his father as it resonated through the hall.

"You did what? We'll talk about this at home, son. Back to the car, _now_."

The man was tall and large. He had a look to him that reminded me of a soldier. That would explain a lot. His face was so cold, I caught myself shivering. I could tell 'talking about it at home' didn't really mean sorting things out with cute promises wrapped in silver ribbons. That man was out of his head with rage. I felt bad for the kid.

And that was the last time I saw Dean. He didn't come back to school on Tuesday morning or any other day after that. I never heard from him again either. Usually, when a year ends, I tell myself that I have given my students all the tools they need to go on. When I see them walk away, I know that most of them will reach their goals.

It helps me move on as well. Considering how many students I have taught, I wouldn't sleep at night if I thought of every one of them.

But I failed with Dean. I can't move on. Sometimes, he still keeps me up at night and I wonder what I could've done differently.

For a long time, I kept thinking about my question to him. Why? Why had it all ended so badly?

It wasn't until very recently that I figured it out. It still doesn't make it easy, but I can rest a little better now.

I'm sad for the fact that I never got to hear Dean's presentation about his parents. The way I remember Dean's father, I guess it has something to do with that. I guess I'll never know.


End file.
